Mortality

Almost a Human Being

Edward approaches me slowly, his steps calculated. He's doing the kind thing; he's letting me get used to it. But ... I can't. I swallow hard, standing my ground. But nothing I've read, or seen, or believed could have prepared me for Edward in the sunlight.

He's ... horrifying.

His skin takes on an unnerving glimmer. Iridescent marble, with gleaming, diamond faucets with a rainbow reflection in every direction. It fits every descriptor I ever gave of his skin, from it's cold air to how pale it is, makes even more sense in this moment.

But that doesn't distract from his hands, reaching toward mine, with little drops of blood and shining fragments of skin withering, falling silently to the grass. And from his fingertips, iridescent claws grow from the very bone — crystalline.

Unnatural. Not safe. Run. My instincts scream at me, pulling my every nerve for me to run. But I can't. Because now he's reaching up.

And the claws are at his face. His hollow cheeks, gaunt to the point of emaciation, or death. I can see through his face, through his cheeks. The outline of his inner jaw and teeth makes me think of the brief glimpse at the lunch table — and how I didn't realize it went all the way back.

And they're in his skin. The entire cheek breaks off, breaking into pieces as it rains down like forgotten glitter. I can't force down the yelp from the sight of his teeth, his fangs, lion-like and deadly, totally exposed. His red eyes shine bright, and he stops a good three feet away from me, radiating ice.

And now I understand why vampires don't go out in the sunlight. I look at Edward's face, what beauty I once saw has gone completely. His mouth, his real mouth, goes back to the hinge of his jaw — like a beast, a predator. His claws curl inward, made for gripping, slashing, tearing.

His eyes, pained and waiting, flicker around my face. Searching for something. Fear. Hostility. Anything.

I connect our hands finally, and his claws wrap around my suddenly tan-looking skin.

"I ... I don't scare you?" he asks weakly, slowly lifting my hand to his cheek — what remains of it — as a silent way to confirm what I see is real. I thought he felt like ice before. Now I worry my hand may stick to his skin.

"I can't answer that. Not right now. Just ..." I inch closer, examining every part of him. His exposed shoulders seem strangely sharp. The bone looks like it is protruding, almost to the point of breaking the skin. I take my hand from his cheek and trace along the veins of his upper arm, seeing the muscle itself through his skin. It looks so fragile, like sugar glass.

But I know better.

"That isn't what I figured you'd be staring at," Edward says with a slight bite in his laugh. "But I won't complain. I wouldn't want to look at me either." His throat clears.

"Please, I had difficulty doing that when you looked human." I tease, finally reaching for his hand with both of mine.

"Ouch. That's a below the belt hit to the ego." I chuckle, my finger tracing along the transparent glass of his fingers. His skin is so soft, even where it looks solid.

"How are you still so human feeling?" I press my fingers to the palm of his hand, denting the arctic flesh.

"It's because of you. You're being gentle. If you were to hit me, every bone in your hand would shatter." He raises his arm blindingly fast, fluffing the top of my hair. I jump slightly and glare at him. "You must forgive me, it's going to happen a lot more. It's way too easy to be myself with you." This time, I can see his hand move as it tucks a long lock of hair out of my eyes. "Allow me to officially reintroduce myself. Hello, Bella Swan. My name is Edward Masen II. I'm from Chicago, I'm 20 years old, and for a living, I rip the heads off mountain lions."